I was born in the Eighteenth year after the opening of the Dark Portal. My parents met in that war when they were both very young. My father was a field medic barely old enough to tie bandages and my mother was a newly recruited pikewoman. They both survived, and for their service they were granted a small farmstead near the walls of the reclaimed Stormwind.

For many years they lived happily, on that farm. I was born there, their only child. They tried for many years to have children, but they feared that my mother's wounds had left her barren. Finally, she conceived and bore me. Though she was nearly beyond the years of child-bearing, we both survived thanks to the help of a wandering Druid. I owe much to the servants of Elune.

I have a few vague memories of that place. Of my father teaching me to fish, of my mother showing me how to handle a spear. To defend myself against the wild boars, she said, though I think she knew that the fragile peace would not last. I think they both knew.

In my fourteenth year, my father returned early one day from market, with news of a great plague sweeping the lands of the north and of the slaughter in Stratholme. I listened, horrified, though the door as they spoke in hushed tones of preparations for war. Neither of them could remain here while even one person was in need of their skills, not when they had sacrificed so much of their youth to fight for the freedom of Azeroth.

Quickly they made preparations to leave. I was to be sent to the Cathedral of the Light until my parents returned. Innocent hope still lived in my heart then, and I thought that perhaps they would return in a month or two with a few more stories and a few new scars as well. I watched them leave Stormwind City while tightly clutching the hand of the Daughter of the Light whom they had left me in the charge of. I vowed to myself that I would be not cry, for I knew it tore at their hearts to leave me.

From that day onward, there was much to occupy my time. I continued learning my letters from the Priests, and from the Knights I learned the arts of war. I was put to work in the blacksmith's shop making buckles and nails, and in the stables caring for the horses. There was much to be done to prepare against the eventuality that the mad heir of Lordaeron would turn his eyes to the south. Meanwhile, scores of refugees fleeing the north came to Stormwind, all of them hungry and poor, having taken with them only what they could carry. There were many who advised that we turn them away lest we also fall victim to the plague, but the Light would not turn from it's children in need.

The days continued to grow darker. Armies fell beneath the endless flood of the Scourge and the onslaught of the Burning Legion. I knew that my parents must be dead. There had been no word from them for months. It was not until the time that the courier brought news of the battle of Mount Hyjal that I admitted to myself the truth. I cried then, for the first and last time since the beginning of the Third War. My instructors found me in the stables, hours later, curled up beside one of the great golden warhorses. It was there that I realized my calling, to serve and protect the peoples of the Alliance as a holy servant of the Light as my parents had.

My training proceeded swiftly after that, as I quickly learned to understand and appreciate my growing power though there were many trials to overcome. The wars proceeded swiftly, with the Lich King fleeing to his frozen halls and the Burning Crusade beaten back beyond the Dark Portal. The day that I turned 19 I was released from official duties to become a free agent of the Alliance.

There was nothing more that my instructors could teach me through books and sparring. I went into the world with little but my sword and pack, though swiftly I accustomed myself to the work of a mercenary. It seemed that everywhere was chaos. The lands outside the immediate reach of Stormwind were beseiged by bandits, orcs, and the undead. It was too much for one warrior alone, however blessed. I met and befriended one Pharnacis of Goldshire. We were, for a short time, constant companions. Gradually, he grew distant and I learned of his association with the Abyss, though I could not condemn him for it as I knew him too well. Once again, I found myself walking the long roads alone.

In my search for companionship, I shortly thereafter joined the ill-fated Hellenic Legion. For many months we strove together against the ever pervasive evil and decay. I grew strong under the tutelage of High Commander Eradun and General Baervan. It did not last. In the end, we were forced apart by misfortunate circumstance and the Legion dissolved. A few of us vowed to remain together despite our hardships, and the Knights of the Nine was born from the ashes of the Legion. The road was difficult however, for just us few, and we all faced a hard decision. There were too few of us to maintain our positions, and gradually our members left for greener pastures. In the end, Commander Raxsis was approached by the leaders of the Republic, the old guild under which Raxsis had first served. It was decided that the Knights would join the Republic and strengthen it's ranks. Inn return, we would gain fellowship with those who sought to raise the old Republic flag once more. I now serve as leader of the Scholar's District under Commander Wilhelm and General Suriel. I could not hope for better allies.